


Her Level of Sophistication

by crore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, F/M, mentions of high school texts i've studied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crore/pseuds/crore
Summary: “Got ditched did we?”She swerved violently to glare at him, her nose pink from the chill and her cheeks blushed and her parted lips red and Draco didn’t know why the sudden heat of endearment washed over him and he so desperately wanted it to go away.“I didn’t get ditched.” She said.“So forgotten then.” Draco offered.“Maybe they missed me.” Hermione said this more to herself than Draco.ALTERNATIVELY - Draco Malfoy wishes Hermione Granger never joined the orchestra (not really though)





	Her Level of Sophistication

She’s one of those  _ Higher Level English Language and Literature  _ kids. The ones that are supposed to be inches from insanity. The ones that have one folder for all their texts, with spare pieces of scrap paper of hastily scrawled notes on what exactly is, ‘ _ The significance of the mockingbird in the novel ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’?’ _ and a folder for annotated and messily highlighted poems that tell you exactly what ‘ _ the importance of the colour blue within the context is’ _ and all that, except  _ she’s not _ .

 

Draco sees her walk into class with their new text ‘ _ A Streetcar Named Desire’  _ with plastic purple post-it’s indicating exactly where each scene takes place. And of course when McGonagall screws up exactly which scene the ‘ _ betrayal of Stella’ _ takes places, she pipes up with the fact that, ‘ _ There aren’t any acts in this play Miss, only scenes. And I think the betrayal takes place in Scene 4 not 3… because it can be argued that-‘  _ And Jesus Christ, it was five minutes in. 

 

And because he’s Draco Malfoy, and  _ he  _ thinks that the  _ betrayal _ takes place in  _ Scene 3 _ and  _ not Scene 4  _ given the fact that the ‘ _ protagonist physically and metaphorically descends away from Blanche.’  _ He can practically hear the sigh of frustration she emits when she turns to face him with the crook of her eyebrow and he notices the clench of her jaw. What he doesn’t notice is the upward twitch of the mouth of their teacher and the roll of eyes between his peers. 

 

When they get their papers in next lesson on the question ‘ _ How does Stella betray Blanche for sexual gratification?’ _ he gets a 19 and she gets a 20, because when it comes to Hermione Granger, Draco is never ‘ _ The Best’ _ neither is he the _ ‘teacher’s pet’  _ as he so eloquently labeled her, a lame attempt to seem as if he isn’t bothered by the fact that she is always, always, _ always, _ better than him.  

 

It’s when he’s walking to maths when he realizes that he had grown to be more observant.

 

He keeps seeing her in the corridor.

 

And sitting around the metallic blue umbrella seats downstairs beside to the cafeteria and greenhouses during their second break. 

 

And when they go off and play badminton or netball or whatever sports the P.E teachers have decided to torture them with that day. 

 

The more Draco sees her, the more he can’t help but to notice her constantly flustered appearance and how she always seems to carry her laptop in her arms and never in her bag. 

 

He notices that she wears the same practical jeans and never the skin tight ones that leave imprints on your thighs when you take them off, the ones Pansy keeps complaining about. 

 

But, Hermione Granger wears high-rise jeans. 

 

Hermione Granger wears high-rise  _ mom _ jeans. 

 

Hermione Granger wears high-rise mom jeans and light pink nail polish and blue VANS sneakers and always seems to get ink on her hands before first break. 

 

Hermione Granger wears high-rise mom jeans and hangs out with her two sufficiently more annoying friends and when she laughs, it’s like, ten times better than Draco’s alarm that rings at precisely 6:30 every morning.  

 

Hermione Granger wears high-rise mom jeans. 

 

* * *

 

He joins the orchestra. 

 

Just like he does every year. Because his mother decided that  _ ‘It’ll be great on your college application!’ _ during breakfast one day. Lucius nodded along from the top of his newspaper dressed in an iron pressed suit. 

 

Draco guesses that’s precisely why he’s sat in the middle of a stuffy music room surrounded by mediocre musicians of ‘ _ must be grade 3 and above’ _ for the third time. The strong smell of incense waved from Trelawney’s desk. 

 

He plays the violin, possibly what he thinks is the most commonly normal and boring string instrument he could have chosen to learn. He sits in front of Theodore Nott, some guy who’s practically a genius, and Theo says he’s going straight to Harvard or Yale or one of those Ivy League schools that practically suck the life out of you. Then again, that’s what Draco’s doing. 

 

There is a tentative crack of light that peeks through the door and grazes across Draco’s sheet music for ‘ _ Can You Feel The Love Tonight’ _ , and you could see the tiny specks of dust drifting through the air, and Draco turns to look around and he already knows who it’s going to be and-

 

“Is that Hermione Granger?” Theo asks. 

 

“Yep.” 

 

She strides up to Trelawney and Flitwick with a sense of determination that was known to anyone who’s even heard the name of Hermione Granger. She held a replica of his black case and a puddle of dread began to pool in his stomach, and suddenly the air around the empty seat next to him felt ten degrees colder than it used to be. 

 

When Flitwick led her to  _ his _ row and pointed at  _ him _ , he watched as her eyebrows crumpled slightly and her mouth gave a small pout, barely noticeable, and he reveled in the small flicker of joy he felt. Though he wasn’t sure whether it was her . 

 

His sharp eyes watched as she awkwardly shuffled between the stands and bows and knees, and he heard the huff she gave when she sat next to him. 

 

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” She starts. 

 

He raised his brow, “You’ve organized two of the five concerts we’ve had. I’d think you’d be aware that I’d be here Granger.”

 

“It’s not like I’d actively try to  _ find _ you in the crowd Malfoy.”

 

“You literally shouted at me because I didn’t wear a ‘ _ jet black tie’ _ . Like, mine was a  _ dark grey _ .”

 

“You would have literally, ruined the entire look of  _ sophistication  _ and-”

 

Draco scoffed, “Sophistication my ass, one kid wore a  _ polo shirt _ for crying out loud, who wears a  _ polo shirt _ to a musical concert?” 

 

“Well then I didn’t notice!” She tied her hair into a braid in the same pace she spoke. “And besides, as long as it was collared, which was what it said on the  _ rules  _ \- that the shirt  _ had _ to be collared- then it was fine!” 

 

There was a tense silence between them, like a too tightly strung nylon string on an electric guitar. One pluck and then-

 

“Well, I just thought it completely trashed the ‘ _ look of sophistication’ _ you were going for.” 

 

The black case slams shut.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time he sees her is Monday morning.

 

Monday morning. First period. English Language and Literature, Higher Level. 

 

He enters after she’s already sat down on her own table, the closest one to the board. He enters and he can see the familiar clench of her jaw and tightened grip of her navy blue ink pen, her name plastered on the side of it. 

 

He smirks. 

 

* * *

 

The time after that, he sees her sitting beside his empty seat with her violin polished and propped on her knee. Her hair falls down her shoulder when she leans forward, to the row in front to chat with Lavender Brown. 

 

She flicks her hair back when he comes to settle down next to her. 

 

* * *

 

 

He sees her every Tuesday and Friday.

 

That’s when orchestra is. 

 

* * *

 

 

A couple months pass. 

 

It’s the night of the concert. 

 

Everyone around him has sweaty palms and is wearing black  _ collared _ shirts and is nervously tapping their heeled shoes on the wooden floorboards, waiting for their parents or friends or their whatevers and you can see their eyes dart anxiously towards the large silver doors, with a sliver of glass seen separating them and the crowd and the proud, proud,  _ proud _ parents who are already frantically clicking on their camera phones. 

 

“So are your-“

 

“No.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

There was a shuffle and she adjusted a headband he’s never seen her wear, and he thinks that if he squints he can tell whether it was made out of chiffon or silk 

 

He casually swings his right arm over the head of her fold-up chair, and her eyes flicker as his hand falls inches from her arm, and she looks back at him with a curious sort of look he’d never seen from her. 

 

He doesn’t care. 

 

So, with the upwards jerk of his chin, he dismisses her overly suspicious look and instead watches as the crowd rolls in and how the proud parents come up to embarrass and harass their kids with flashing lights and pointing out the missed out button on their shirts and maybe if he craned his neck high enough he might be able to see the unmistakable flash of blond hair but he doubts it. 

 

* * *

 

They bow; there are cheers, the end. 

 

But there Granger was, with her big red coat bunched up around her and you can see her icy breath and her brown scanning eyes, as if she was waiting for someone to pick her up and yet no one was there. 

 

“Got ditched did we?” 

 

She swerved violently to glare at him, her nose pink from the chill and her cheeks blushed and her parted lips red and Draco didn’t know why the sudden heat of endearment washed over him and he so desperately wanted it to  _ go away.  _

 

“I didn’t get ditched.” She said. 

 

“So forgotten then.” Draco offered. 

 

“Maybe they missed me.” Hermione said this more to herself than Draco. 

 

“Maybe.” There was a beat. “Or maybe they’re driving to Pansy’s house since you know, her parents are out of town and Weasley probably wants to suck at her face again.”  

 

She winced. 

 

“Or-“ Draco interjected, “or maybe they’ve gone to fetch the steel-canned monstrosity you call a car.” 

 

“No.” 

 

The light from the nearby lamppost shone onto the bricked pavement and Draco thinks it’s about to rain and they’re the last ones left because Hagrid had just gone up to lock the doors and it was eleven o’clock at least and it was cold and- 

 

“I could drive you.” 

 

His mouth snapped as soon as he uttered.  

 

“What?” 

 

“Yeah? I mean- yeah, I could like, drive you.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Well, I mean- I have my car. So, like, I could always drive you.” 

 

She shuffled. “I was supposed to get dinner with Harry and Ron.” 

 

“Oh.” 

 

Her head swiveled around, as if looking to see if anyone was walking down the sidewalk towards her, or driving in to pick her up, or if anybody, really, was watching. 

 

“We could, I dunno, I guess, we could- could get dinner.”

 

Draco couldn’t move. 

 

“… But that’s silly, that’s  _ stupid _ . I’ll just walk home.” She rushed. 

 

He cleared his throat, “Don’t be dumb Granger, it doesn’t suit you.” 

 

He fingered the straps of his violin case. Another beat passes. 

 

“I am going to drive you, take you to Fortescue’s, we’ll show Potter what a grand time you can have with  _ me _ and not  _ him _ , and I’ll drive you back and through all that, you can tell me precisely why you’re  _ wrong _ about the betrayal being in Scene 4 and not Scene 3.” 

 

He paused. 

  
“Is that up for your  _ level of sophistication, _ Granger?” 

 

 


End file.
